With Brilliance
by VeltPunch
Summary: Attending Toronto U, Peter is left to take care of his abandoned sister Angel. Lucky for him, the Coyne's are back in town, and Fiona is up for babysitting his cherubic young sister. Declan, however, seems more interested in Peter.
1. defiant of orchids and orchids alike

_Yes well...Declan is just pure awesome!!! (And so is Peter) So I present to you my after-Degrassi story. In which Peter attends Toronto University while struggling to take care of his abandoned baby sister Angel. Luckily enough, the Coyne's are back in town, and Fiona is up for babysitting his cherubic adorable little sister. Declan, however, seems more interested in Peter. _

–

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defiant of orchids and orchids alike

–

–

Her hands were small and lithe, and hit the keys softly and suddenly. Sunbeams diffused the room in panels of speckled yellow, the dark lines of the piano sharp relief in its dark tones. She was small, much too small—was she eating enough? Is that normal?—and she had her feet beneath her knees lost in ruffles of fresco pink, dress fluffy and wide and filled with silky material. The bow on her back must be at least three times bigger then her head.

The chord struck wrong, and Claire de Lune sustained wordlessly in the air.

Angel's mouth pursed in frustration, and her cheeks flushed pink—she couldn't mess up in front of her older brother.

Her fingers were shaking already, but she couldn't stop now. The hardest part was yet to be played, Peter's favorite part, and she wouldn't stop until she succeeded.

E-G-C-D—

A minor chord. Oops. She blinked twice, and tried not to cry. She got a little farther before she had to look up and squint to see the notes. Her finger pressed down to what she hoped to be a correct chord.

However, before she could, Peter scooped her up in his arms, and beamed at her brightly.

"It's beautiful." He whispered quietly to her, and brushed honey-wick curls out of her face as she giggled.

Her eyes were bright, as if the sky was tucked beneath her irises. She pouted, then. "But I—" Her lashes lowered as she looked down, casting long shadows over the spray of freckles dotting her cheeks. They had the same eyes. "I messed up." She finished, lamely.

Peter smiled down, and kissed his little sister on the nose. She burst into a smile.

It lit up her face faster then birds took flight out in the garden in the courtyard outside. Shadows from their wings fluttered over her face from the window.

So young, only four.

Inwardly, he seethed at his father. He doubted the man even knew where his daughter was, much less cared.

But when had he ever cared?

Angel dazzled at him again, and Peter thought she looked beautiful and fit so well in the marble music room, open floor to ceiling windows casting light from the courtyard outside. Feathers were floating to the ground from behind her, and her eyes were glowing and she looked so _happy—_

He smoothed her baby soft hair back, the same lemon color as his own, and smiled softly. How could such a perfect angel be born from such an undeserving father?

She gave him another beaming smile filled with unconditional love, and her tiny hands pinched his cheeks. "I love my older brother." She said, with a correctness to her grammar and articulation of her words that doubtless, came from her new babysitter.

He glowed at the words, and rubbed her nose with his until she started to squeal in laughter. "I love you too, little sister."

"Am I..."

Speaking of said babysitter.

Fiona leaned in from behind a corner nervously, curls falling from her shoulder and hands clasped behind her back. "Interrupting something?" She ended, worriedly.

Peter shook his head with a smile. "No, it's fine."

He picked up his backpack from its fallen spot in the corner as he placed Angel back two feet on the ground. Her smile was fading already. Why was he even going to college, anyway?

"Thanks for watching her." He added, as he walked up to her.

She smiled, it was small, but entirely visible. "I enjoy it." She answered sincerely, and then, with a dreamy look upon her face, "She looks so adorable in my dresses..."

Peter flashed another smile, before smoothing a hand in his hair.

The Coyne's loft—not really much of a loft, it was a downright _mansion—_was perfect with its open rooms and floor to ceiling windows, taupe colored curtains long and billowing against the white washed walls. The perfection came from more then just the house, but also the siblings dwelling inside it. Fiona with her perfect dark locks and dainty fingers, and Declan with his dark eyes and equally dark intentions. While he certainly wasn't complaining, there was something to be said with Declan's easy smile and dramatically beneficent agreement when Fiona asked (begged) to let Angel stay with them when Peter couldn't watch her.

The two were only here for a couple months, much like when he had met them in Degrassi, Fiona working with a fashion agency in Toronto and Declan well, he wasn't even sure.

He was absolutely distrustful of the older Coyne—certain that the man's intentions were anything but good, the man seemed to take a liking to Angel. At least, as much as a dark and cunning man could like something so innocent as her.

And seeing as though school and work were eating away at his _life _there wasn't much he could say about it.

He turned a corner abruptly, and near crashed into the charming male Coyne.

"Sorry," He muttered, avoiding the boy's smoldering eyes, and focusing on his button down that was suspiciously unbuttoned, and also the suspiciously unbuttoned shirt on the buxom blond behind him.

Declan smiled, but he passed him quickly and didn't miss the brunette's trailing gaze.

–

–

School had a way of making him yawn ridiculous amounts and want to rest his head in the crook of his elbow, always had, actually. Now, there was no Mia, no Darcy, no Manny to take racy photos. Only an array of fellow sophmores in college. Toronto University was notorious for its large classes and the inability to hear the teacher some feet bellow the higher desks. Riley, two desks to his left, must have noticed his dreary mood, because he leaned over the studious two between them to give him a worried look.

He gave a noncommittal shrug in response.

Here he was, emancipated (however the fact didn't matter much now that he was past eighteen) and in college, and he hadn't the slightest idea where he was going in life. Not to mention his dad was out there with his latest and greatest lover of this month and Angel was currently being babysat by Declan, man of _hell._

"Could be worse." Riley began as they sat at the school's coffee shop. "I mean... what if Fiona and the asshole weren't there? Where would Angel go?"

Although college, and the campus for that matter, was a sprawling mass of buildings containing thousands, he wasn't the only Degrassi graduate. Obviously Riley was here, with his concerned eyes just opposite of the small round table, but Holly J was currently bickering with another girl across the room in a manner that sorely reminded him of their high school days. Blue was here as well, taking advantage of the school's liberal arts no doubt.

Peter sighed helplessly, and watched his wavering reflection in his coffee. "I don't know, a daycare?" He answered half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair. He didn't look much different then he had in high school, cheekbones a bit more defined and the chin more pronounced. Riley, however, seemed to have lost all the baby-roundness of his high school days. Fiona could have booted Mia from her modeling career easily. And Declan...

"With what money?" Riley returned without missing a beat.

Peter blinked suddenly. "Shit. Speaking of work." He downed the rest of his coffee, and made a vague wave to Riley, who only rolled his eyes. "I gotta go."

Degrassi high hadn't changed...at all. There was something to be said about the large wall of double doors ominously overbearing atop a mountain of stairs. Snake had set him up with a substitute teaching job whenever someone was absent. So far, the pay didn't seem too bad, but the more he thought about teaching kids, the more he cringed. The halls were crowded with faces he didn't remember, and the ones that looked distantly familiar he couldn't seem to remember their faces.

He spotted Darcy's younger sister—what was her name, Clare?—darting into the classroom next to the one that he was assigned to babysit for the next block. She looked a bit different then the last glimpse he'd had of her, more like Darcy without the style. A lanky looking dirty-blonde with a mop top languidly followed after her. He supposed they were still going out, then.

Sav's younger sister, the strange loud one who went out with that scoundrel DiMarco, was chatting loudly going the opposite direction. When they levelled in the hallway, her friend ribbed her quickly and she started giggling, fluffed her hair and turned to face him. He didn't pay her much attention, but he noted the crestfallen face and the dramatic sigh of, "Oh, that's my brother's friend Peter." in an entirely bragging way. The other girl was enraptured. "Yeah they had a band it was _so _cool."

"Alright children." Peter tossed his bag onto the desk, knocking off one of Snake's plastic bobbleheads in the process. "Snake's not here. You're stuck with me for the next hour or so. Don't do anything stupid."

With that, he plodded to the desk sullenly and pulled up the computer.

The students looked at him forlornly and he was suddenly struck by their tiny little faces beaming at him with something akin to heroic worship. Was he really that small as a Freshmen? Or were they increasingly diminishing in size? He thought about Angel, and what she would look like as a Freshmen. And then, with more growing horror, what if he never got to see the day?

The realization touched him with sickening dread, and he quickly swiveled the computer to his face and typed in the latest videos from the Capitals/Sharks hockey game.

It was a bit outdated already, two weeks, at the most, before the screen lit up with a fifteen second advertisement. "NHLfanbase would like to honor our most beloved benefactor, Mr. Declane Coyne for his generous donation to the site, helping hockey fans all over Canada get their daily dose of rink—and more importantly—_Ovechkin—!!!!!_"

Peter wanted to throw his head into the desk. Could he ever get away from the guy?

A familiar head poked in from the door, and Peter was struck by her nose and her eyes, and its likeness to Darcy.

"Peter?" She smiled tentatively, eyes shining above her glasses.

"Clare." He greeted warmly, swiveling the chair to face her.

She flashed him a large, glittering smile. "It's great to see you!" Strange, they'd never been very close. Ah, there it was, a small fidget, toes pivoting into the carpet. "Darcy...she was asking about you the other day—

Peter shook his head, interrupting her. "I don't want to know." For a moment, Clare almost seemed hurt by his sudden impassivity. "I mean," He elaborated quickly. "I liked her, no, loved her. I don't think I'm ever going to want to open that again."'

"I—I see." Clare rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, and Peter was surprised with her confidence. He could clearly remember Darcy's meek little sister walking along the shadows of the lockers. He supposed growing up did that to someone.

Obviously not to him.

"Well it was nice seeing you again." She finished lamely.

She darted quickly into the next room, a wisp of her ponytail swished the other direction before there was no trace of her left. Degrassi held many memories; most of them entirely too unpleasant to count.

His last class of the day, World History, sapped energy out of him faster then plants greedily sucked sunlight in. In the last ten minutes, he didn't even bother to listen to the lecture on the differences of religion and their geographical impacts, rather on the ticking clock and the smile that he'd find on Angel's face when he returned. He understood Mia more then he ever had before now, the unconditional love one could have for something that caused him so much grief and trouble. Blue was sketching next to him, and occasionally would stab the pointed edge of his pencil into his shoulder to jar him awake.

By the time Peter had pulled into the exclusive apartment complex, he was considerably drooping and rubbing his eyes. It was only four o'clock. He leaned onto the cool metal of the elevator and studied his reflection in the mirrored surface as he pressed the penthouse button..

He was actually sliding down when the doors opened again.

The lion-like knockers of the Coyne suite were ominous and vicious looking, and he tried not to look at them as he pulled his key out and twisted the door open. The house still stood in its everlasting splendor, the stone flooring and marble statues and rock water fountains probably looked like a dreamland to Angel. Compared to his small rented flat in downtown, at least.

Angel and Fiona were playing the piano still, and Peter was sure that he'd have to get Angel lessons pretty soon. She was starting to get pretty good. He walked down the hallway a little faster, hoping to get out of here quickly, when Declan stepped out from one of the rooms. His hair stuck up in odd directions, like he'd just towel dried it and hadn't bothered to do much else, with a wet white shirt and low jeans.

It was almost like the man purposefully exited the rooms when Peter was here. He hedged slightly when he Declan trailed his eyes down, and then back to his face.

"Back from school?" And his voice, tinged with so many accents its musical quality was beguiling and chimerical in its unforgettable tones.

"Yeah," He answered vaguely, eyes focused on the point across the hall.

His eyes were lidded, as if he actually wasn't paying much attention whatsoever. "Oh..."

Color blossoms beneath his cheeks, incarnadine in its shading.

This hadn't happened since Riley.

Not something he wanted to relive.

"U—Uh...." He sidestepped Declan quickly, who was watching him with an amused look schooling his handsome features—but there was a deeper emotion behind the smoke of his eyes, one he didn't want to decipher—and rubbed his hair awkwardly. "I better get Angel."

He hastily crossed the space to the other room, where Fiona was teaching Angel Fur Elise.

–

–

Peter huffed from his safe distance away from his friends, leaning against the wall of the shop and looking out the store's windows.

He looked around the Campus store until he spotted Riley, who leafed through a couple magazines and had the foresight to carefully hide himself behind a multitude of Britney Spears' scandals. "We should have went to the sports store," Riley sighed, as he flipped the page. "This would have never happened if we had just done what I said." He must have been talking about the currently snapping Holly J, voice masked with studied disinterest to hide the latent bitterness no doubt simmering beneath the surface.

Peter agreed.

But it was a perennially lost cause anyway, Holly J always dragged them wherever she wanted to go, a movement that made him feel heaps of sympathy for Blue, said harpy's on and off boyfriend of several years. Or perhaps Blue just hadn't the sense to stem Holly J's female empowerment arc when it first reared its stubborn hormonal head, and probably had no one to blame but himself.

His eyes continuously trailed out of the store, down the campus and into the city beyond, where Angel was being babysat by Fiona for the day again. Speaking of female hormones. The two were probably enjoying one of the cities playgrounds while the summer air still frequented Canada. Fiona had an unnatural attachment to his adorable younger sister (not that he could blame her. Hence, adorable) that perhaps stemmed from the lack of involvement from both of their parents. He didn't doubt the lifestyle of a diplomat, moving, moving, and more moving. He doubted Fiona or Declan liked it much, and it was probably the reason they were so close.

He checked his watch again, seven o'clock. Time to pick up Angel.

"Gotta go." Riley looked up with a glower.

"Lucky you." His eyes watched another snipe from Holly J to Blue, and the way the boy's face lit up in anger. "I get to watch the toddlers bicker. Is Angel this bad?"

Peter chuckled. "Not a chance!"

Toronto looked beautiful in the retrogade light of the sun, setting and dying the sky into claret reds and oranges, eventually turning into a pale yellow that made the navy blue sky have twisting purple hands that reached for the moon on the other side of the horizon. Fiona said it was the park next to the H and M department store, the one with the array of fountains.

He jogged over and paid the cab for the ride, scanning the crowd of whining children and bemoaning parents for the beautiful dark-haired Fiona who generally wore the cutest fashion statements of the day.

Peter saw Angel first, twirling in one of the sparkling fountains that jumped from the ground in a spray of water sprites, giggling and dancing as they shot into the air, before gravity pulled them down into glittering droplets. He smiled broadly, as he took in her pleased and content appearance. There was something to be said of having friends in high places, like Fiona, who could give you small favors like this. He'd heard the saying before; money can't buy happiness. The look on Angel's face said otherwise.

"She's really enjoying herself."

Peter jumped at the deep voice that was _not _Fiona, and clutched his bag's shoulder strap stiffly.

Declan was smiling at him with that two-toned smirk, charming and pleasing to the eye, but inwardly...Peter shook his head. The boy looked immaculate, as usual. Button-down ironed and pressed, jacket folded over one arm. Unlike himself, with his green hoodie that he'd found on the floor that morning with the word fox printed over it, ripped jeans that weren't ripped for style, but simply because they had been worn so much, and his dirtied kicks that he'd had forever and then some.

He gave a fleeting return smile, before turning to the sound of splattering water against pavement.

Angel dashed towards him, with windy hair and cloudy eyes. "Peter! Lookie! The water shoots up into the sky!"

Peter chuckled with mirth, and bent down until his face was level with her big china blue eyes. "Did you have fun!"

"Lots!" She smiled widely. "Auntie Fiona and me went to the ice cream parlor and Declan came and took me to the water park!"

He blinked in surprise, and looked up to where Declan stood, just in front of the setting sun, hair crisping bronze at the edge where the light hit it.

"It's Auntie Fiona and _I._" Declan corrected, surprisingly without tart. His sea green eyes softening when looking at his younger sister.

Angel nodded, and rolled on her heels. "Auntie Fiona and _I_." She parroted, tilting her head to watch Declan give her a soft smile that Peter didn't catch.

"Well, we better get going," And, while smothering his clenching feeling in his gut, he turned to Declan. "Thanks for watching her." He said, sincerely.

Declan only waved with that half sincere smile, the rest, well, it looked like a mixture of lust and bemusement. Peter quickly turned his head so he didn't have to see.

* * *

_No Declan Peter pairings? Bah. I'm going to make them myself then if I have to. _


	2. again with the subtleties

_Yup yup, this pairing still has me hooked._

_--_

_--_

_again with the subtleties_

_--_

--

Angel frowned as she watched the teacher in front of her.

Ms. Brown was sweet and funny, and all the kids in her class loved her. They drew pictures, took naps, made creations from playdoh and even learned the alphabet. But for some reason, Angel couldn't help but compare her to Fiona. The beautiful brunette fashionista always had something creative and fun to do besides the monotonous days that the rest of her agemates couldn't even begin to fathom. Of course, her days were split between Ms. Brown's prekindergarten class and Fiona's house.

But she really liked Fiona's house better.

"And this animal is a—"

"Cat!"

"That's right!"

Angel toyed with her pencil as she entertained herself by finding shapes in the clouds. Her head itched but Fiona had braided her wispy golden curls into little pink ribbons below her ear and she didn't want to mess them up. Fiona always had cute things for her to wear, and today she decided to wear her striped pink and white long socks. And since Peter was picking her up to day, she wore the hooded pink cat sweater he had given her.

But it was already eleven, and the class hadn't ended yet.

By the time eleven-thirty rolled around, Angel was entertaining herself with some of her friends in the water box, making fun creations to stop the water from flowing to the bottom. The four of them had finally decided to stop using the toys and simply hold their hands in a line. It wasn't working, but getting splashed had been lots of fun.

Peter had barely gotten out of his class at eleven twenty-five and raced across town hopefully before Angel's class let out. His psychology class, while interesting, was ultimately a lesser cause than seeing Angel's stricken face if he was even moments late. She had a very large—but understandable—fear of being left alone.

Fiona would have usually picked her up, but the fashion protégé was currently designing a dress with some company and wasn't available.

"Peter?" Holly J caught up to him as he briskly walked into the parking lot, already unlocking his care with the automated beep.

"Yeah?" He answered distractedly, wondering how long it would take him to shake her off.

She frowned, checking her reflection in his car window and flashing a fake smile to check the glossing on her lips. Peter could already tell he wasn't getting rid of her.

"What are you doing today?"

He eyed her skeptically as he adjusted the backpack hanging from his shoulder. He hadn't exactly made it clear to his friends just how important Angel was to him. He suspected Riley may know a vague bit of its depth, but Holly J, certainly didn't have an indication.

"Picking up my little sister." He replied. It wasn't untruthful after all.

She fluffed her ponytail and rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" She opened the passenger without his permission. "Why? Don't your parents do that? And hey, you want to drive me to the coffee shop downtown? Blue's being real annoying today."

Peter wanted to bash his head into the steering wheel, but instead opted to run his fingers through his winter-wheat hair

"I pick her up because my dad doesn't give a shit about her." He grounded out, with ice.

Holly J seemed to blink back a bit in shock, before pursing her lips. "Oh…"

He eased the clutch and pitched into first gear as he turned out of the parking lot. Holly J seemed a bit more subdued from her usually riot-like mood, and had crossed her legs and had her hands in her lap placidly.

"I'm sorry to hear that." It sounded like she'd have an easier choking out her kidney then saying anything close to sympathy, but even then Peter could tell it was sincere.

"It's alright." He smiled dazzlingly at her, and she blinked at its brilliance. "I don't mind. What coffee shop did to want to go to?"

Holly J turned to him with a bit of a smile, and he could see why Blue could like her a bit. Holly J was a bit like a lemon, with a tough outer layer and sour to the taste, but once the feeling really sinks in, it wasn't all that bad. He supposed he might feel like that because he'd simply hung around with her for so long that he figured out why she does the things she does.

"It's called Mocha and Company, and it's supposed to be better then Starbucks and Seattle's Best combined. Imagine…"

--

Luckily for Peter, by the time he pulled into the parking lot of the preschool, Angel was still engrossed in her mini water park with her friends, and none of them had been picked up yet. Ever since Peter enrolled her, she'd constantly chatter about Michael, one of her friends she'd made. And from their closeness, Peter would assume it was the brunette who was splashing water on her.

He stopped in front of the long glass that separated the hallway from the classroom, which was used so that parents could watch their kids. He figured it was pretty unnerving for those poor teachers.

Peter stopped to watch Angel's cherubic, content face as she sat with her knees tucked under her little jean skirt, sweater sleeves rolled to her elbows and water splashed all over her. He could hear the clicking of Holly J's heels as she came to a stop next to him, thin arms crossed over her vest in what was certainly the newest in fashion clothing.

The girl didn't say anything as they stood in silence, watching Angel get to her feet with one of the toys Michael was using and race to the other side of the room as he chased her.

"She looks happy." Holly J commented, her eyes softening.

Peter nodded.

"I'm glad." He smiled. "She's never really had friends her age. I'm really relieved she's making some so quickly."

"Hey, isn't that your dad?" Michael asked, as he plopped onto the side of one of the green colored tables. It matched his eyes, Angel noticed.

Angel didn't bother to turn around to see who he was talking about, instead sitting opposite of him on the floor made of squishy jig-saw puzzles, holding the rubber ball she had taken from him that he'd lost interest in chasing after.

"He's not my dad." She retorted hotly. "He's my big brother!"

"Where's your dad then?" Tilted his head, his hair getting into his eyes.

Angel bristled. "What does it matter? Why do you care?"

Michael blinked in reeling surprise as Angel stood up quickly to put her hands on her hips and lean in close to him.

"I—I guess it doesn't matter." He answered after a few moments. "I just wanted to know if that was your mom."

Angel paused before turning around to see the glass screens where parents always watched them. She saw Peter, and she immediately brightened. His hair, the same color as hers, was sticking every which way and he was wearing a blue tee shirt over his jeans. And then she saw the woman next to him. She was very pretty, with fiery red hair tied neatly into a ponytail atop her head. Her eyes were sharp and bright, and she had a tiny nose. She wore the same kind of knee-high boots Fiona always wore, and a pretty and shinny dark skirt and a vest with a bright green long sleeve shirt under it.

Angel scrunched her nose.

While she was pretty, Angel thought Peter looked better with Fiona.

"That's not my mommy!" Angel crossed her arms as she turned back to Michael. "My mommy's a lot prettier than her!"

"But she's really pretty." Michael remarked, as he caught another glimpse of the red-headed woman from over Angel's head.

Noticing where Michael was looking, Angel stood on her tiptoes to block his view. "I'll show you my real mommy someday." She tugged her pink sweater with the cat face on the front a little lower over her jean skirt, wiggling her toes in her sneakers. "She's super pretty."

"Okay."

Angel then spun around and raced out the door, only backtracking when she remembered she had to get her coat and her bookbag filled with drawings and the book she wanted to show Peter.

As she whipped around, Ms. Brown kneeled to her level. Ms. Brown was pretty too.

"Looking for this?"

"My book bag!" Angel grabbed it readily, smiling politely as she did so. "Thank you." She remembered as an after thought. They had learned about manners yesterday, but Fiona had already taught her them. She forgot them though, sometimes.

"You're welcome." Ms. Brown answered courteously. Her curious eyes trailed over to where Peter was, whom she already knew was of relation to Angel. "Oh? Where's the dark-haired woman who always picks you up?"

Angel immediately brightened. "You mean Fiona! She couldn't come today, she's got work. She's making a big fashion project! And she said when I'm older, I could wear her clothes for real!"

The woman turned to Peter questioningly, who was engrossed in conversation with the beautiful girl next to him. She frowned in subtle tones. She was a bit surprised that Angel called her mother by her first name. It was a bit strange, but the dark-haired lady was very young, so perhaps it was simply something one must take in stride. Peter—whom she assumed from his near identical china blue eyes and lemon colored hair—was of obvious relation to her, and she wondered who this other, red-haired woman was.

"Have a good weekend!" The teacher waved to the young girl, who smiled as she ran out the classroom.

"Peter!" Angel cried, running up until she was right in front of him.

Her brother smiled as he picked her up, carrying her to the car. Angel opened her eyes to stare at the redheaded woman. But the lady didn't seem to notice.

She became curious as Peter clicked on her seatbelt when the woman got into the side opposite of Peter. Usually, the seat was left vacant or housed a vast amount of books. Sometimes, when they all went out, Fiona would sit there.

"Hi I'm Angel." She began bluntly with little tact. "Who are you?"

The woman turned around, a bit amused and surprised, and smirked. "I'm Holly, Holly J. But you can only call me Holly J."

Peter chuckled a bit, ad Angel felt a bit lost at their inside joke.

"Are you Peter's girlfriend?" She asked suddenly, but in her childlike wonder, altogether serious.

Holly J near burst into laughter. "Oh no, no, no," She waved her hands, before begin to giggle again. "Blue would be dying if he heard this." She whispered under breath, but enough for Peter to catch as he began to chuckle as well.

As they pulled into the coffee shop, Angel crossed her arms over her seatbelt. She could already tell she didn't like Holly J very much.

Angel entertained herself by propping her head up on her hands and swinging her legs wildly from the high tables. The newly opened restaurant was posh and filled with well-dressed pretty people, and Holly J seemed to fit in snuggly, and Peter didn't seem to mind. Everything was clean and shiny, but for some reason Angel didn't like it. She remembered when Peter had taken her to 'The Dot', near where he went to school. Him and Riley had become engrossed in their high school days, and would occasionally tell her funny anecdotes about her brother. Like the time he fell face first on a root when he tried out for cross country.

Holly J was a lot different then anyone else Angel ever met as one of Peter's friends. She liked Fiona best, because she explained everything that went on in a way Angel could understand. She carried herself different, and the way she fluffed her hair was different too.

By the time they left, Angel had her head cradled in her hand and Holly J had long since been swept away by Blue to the latest art gallery, and Peter was already picking her up and bringing her into the car.

--

Fiona had her hair tied back by a silky yellow ribbon, the dark curls cascading down her shoulder over her very chic off white Prada dress. She was perched precariously atop a ladder, a thin pain brush in her hand and a palette in the other. The window to the courtyard outside was open, and the music was loud enough to drown out the doorbell from that part of the penthouse.

Angel was sleeping peacefully in Peter's arm this morning, and he checked his watch as he waited impatiently for Fiona to open the door. It was exactly nine ten, and his classes started in thirty minutes. And worse, it was chemistry in the morning. Followed quickly by psychology, and a small break until three where he had world history with Blue. Afterwards he had calculus, the annual headache of his entire day. It was only made worse by the fact he had completely slept through pre-cal and algebra2 because Danny always did his homework for him, and his cheating skills were immeasurable by human standards.

Such were the woes of higher education.

He hoisted Angel up a little more as he checked his watch again. Watching the hand click by wasn't going to make it go any slower, though. He had literally got dressed in the dark, sprayed an axe shower and rubbed some hold into his hair to spike it up. Whatever he was wearing came from his bedroom floor.

The door opened suddenly, and the relief he felt as it cracked open was suddenly replaced with an intense feeling of dread when he realized that the tall, built form in front of him was certainly not Fiona.

Declan had his shirt unbuttoned and revealing the chiseled chest that couldn't mean less than four hours at the gym—and he was perpetually wearing button-downs, be it to sleep or two work—and his hair mussed from sleep. But there was a certain awakeness to his smoldering, sky-like eyes.

His stare was uncomfortable—and he wanted to say unpleasing as well, but the word wouldn't get through his head—and made Peter shift his weight from one foot to the other and curled his toes.

Declan eyed the other boy with a bemused gaze, taking in the sleeping child, the straw colored hair that flipped out to the side and stuck up in odd angles and the dark black hooded sweatshirt and ripped jeans.

"Looking for Fiona?"

"Uh—

Declan opened the door with a suave smile, beckoning the blonde in. "She's this way."

Peter nodded soundlessly, clutching Angel a little closer as he walked down the immaculate hallways of the Coyne house.

Fiona gasped in delight when Peter carried Angel through the door, cooing about how adorable she was when she was sleeping and immediately had a bed set up for her in a sunny spot near the window. Peter thanked her profusely before he attempted to high-tail it out of there.

Attempted, because Declan was leaning against the wall beside the door, hair dark and casting shadows over his handsome features.

"School?" He asked pleasantly, and Peter couldn't help but be reminded of a great lion, beautiful in its power and born into its righteousness, toying with a mouse beneath its paws.

"Err—" He began eloquently. "Yeah…my first class starts in a couple minutes."

Peter tried to hedge away, one hand on the threshold of the door and the other clenched by his side. Declan was at least a foot away, yet he had him pinned with just a glance of those cerulean eyes, mesmerizing in their oceanwater tones and delphinium in the shadowy edges.

He blinked and cleared his head, trying to not be affected by the heady spell that draped over Declan like mist in morning, weighted with a compress of emotions.

"Better get going then, hm?"

The man gave him an elusive, easy smile, and Peter nodded, ducking out of the house before he could get trapped any longer.

* * *

_So what do you think? If boyxboy isn't your cup of tea, don't read this. I don't care much for flames which have nothing to do with improving my writing. _


	3. there's something in the air

_i love holly j. The bitch holly j.

* * *

_

Remembering Declan was sort of embarrassing for a refined, classy, relentlessly beautiful—all of which according to herself—kind of woman like Holly J.

They had a big, and kind of over the top summer romance which including Fiona turning fucking crazy and Jane turning equally crazy, all of which held Holly J and Declan in the middle of the storm holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. Declan was sweet. He had a way with words. He loved. (Or so he said) Years have passed, and Holly J isn't so sure of that summer of love.

She pondered this over her cup of coffee.

The whole family was a little warped.

Their mother liked to turn a blind eye to look into the face of glimmering money. Actually, she rather tended to turn a blind eye to _everything _which didn't suit her fancy. Such things included but weren't limited to; Degrassi in general, Holly J in general, the welfare of everything but the refined state of her shoes and family, her son's happiness, and, at that point, her daughter's struggle for personal responsibility.

Of course, she could remember Fiona, grabbing Declan by the neck and attacking him like a harpy. They sure didn't get along, and Holly J had assumed that they had patched things up by the time she had flown back to Canada. But she honestly wasn't sure.

Declan, the boy of her dreams, rich, luxurious houses and burning blue eyes.

There was something off about him, too.

"Did I keep you waiting?"

Peter slid into the seat quickly.

He looked, as usually, completely un-put together. Holly J's fashion sense twisted and wilted, yet somehow purred at the sight of him. Sure, his green and silver striped polo was kind of outdated for the season, and yeah, his keds had certainly seen some better days, but he somehow managed to pull the indie style off, lemon colored hair tousled around his face, breathless smile and all.

She shook her head. "No, of course not." She commented offhandedly. "Just because I've spent the last thirty minutes _duck watching_. Not people watching, not counting cars. Just getting to the point of boredom in which I intrigue myself with waddling animals."

He had the gall to look sheepish. "I'm really sorry, Holly J."

She shrugged it off. "Yeah, whatever. Now, why don't you entertain me before I start thinking of Blue again."

Ah, they were in their "off" phase.

Since high school, they broke up and hooked up with other people, only to eventually wander back to each other. Peter thought it all very weird.

"Well," Peter dug into his pockets. "I've got some tickets to what I hear is going to be a pretty posh opera…"

"Opera?" Holly J perked up. "Sounds exciting. Will there be cute boys with sex appeal?"

"I'd assume so." That, or old men and crowing, wrinkly wives. It was a hit or miss, really.

Holly J simmered at the thought. The red-head was really, seriously, meant for the life of luxury. What sucked terribly was her family's financial state. She _said _she was only staying at Toronto U until she could get her transcripts and transfer over to Yale. She certainly was smart enough… but Yale was a lot of money.

Talking to Holly J was really rather easy. Maybe Peter hung around her too much. He didn't ever talk to her in high school—thought she was kind of a bitch, really (funny how he was so spot on). Although her cat fights were readily amusing, there was something really frank and refreshing about her. She told it to you straight, that's for sure.

"So," The redhead began conversationally, wiping a bit of cream away from the spray of freckles on her cheeks from where she had accidentally gotten some. "Why _are _you so late, anyway?"

"Had to drop of Angel to her babysitter." The blonde replied, grabbing the black coffee with a fisted hand and drowning it down.

Holly J eyed him warily. "Uh. Disgusting?" She sniffed, stirring her own. "Who's the babysitter?"

Her real question, between paying for university and rent and food and gas and all sorts of things which probably took up his time to ridiculous amounts, where on earth did he get the money to pay for a babysitter?

"Fiona."

She almost spit out her drink.

"Fiona Coyne?" The woman echoed forlornly. "Like… Declan's sister?"

At the mention of the other twin, Peter flushed. "Yeah, that Fiona."

Holly J harrumphed. "Huh. Well I hope she's not mental anymore."

Peter cocked his head in confusion, but Holly J shrugged it off. "Wait, are you telling me that that… that, _Fiona _is your babysitter?" The redhead soldiered on. Peter nodded. Holly J scoffed. "And how does that work out?"

"Great I guess." The boy shrugged. "Fiona adores her. Makes her dresses and all sorts of clothes and I never have to buy anything like that." He chugged more caffeine. "Works for me."

Meanwhile, as he drowned his sorrows in java, Holly J pondered the twins which inevitably turned the summer of her Senior year on its head.

"Did I ever tell you we were best friends in senior year?"

"No?" Peter stirred his coffee idly.

"Yeah. I stole two thousand dollars from her to go to a cram school."

"Super friends, huh?"

"I dated her brother." Said Holly J, frank and a little whimsical about it. Staring off into the distance like she really didn't believe it ever happened.

This made Peter pause, and look up. "Oh?" His interest was, dare he say, piqued? "And how was that?"

"Awful." And then after a beat of silence. "Wonderful. But he wasn't what I wanted."

Peter wanted to point out that, in all the years he'd known Holly J, he never really thought she _ever _seemed to do what she wanted, but refrained. Of course, he was aware that Holly J plus Declan had happened at some point. But Holly J's usual retort when the subject of the posh transfer students of only one year were brought up was, "Oh, _Declan._" Like it explained everything in one smirking, but exasperated not-sentence.

"You still work at the Dot?" The red head asked abruptly, brushing a freckle-sprayed cheek with one hands.

Peter shrugged. "I pick up shifts here and there."

Peter wondered if Holly J had ever really moved on from Degrassi. Then again, who did? Shit happened there, all the fucking time. Dumb shit that seemed pretty outlandish and really, when he thought hard, really, really, stupid. They were crazy kids. Maybe their lives really were best in high school. He didn't want to think like that, even though here he was, still working at the Dot, still looking fondly at the Degrassi St. sign, still in Canada.

_Still not moving. _

X o x

Angel looked a lot like her older half brother. It could be the artless quality to her near-sentient looking mess of hair, like down on her head and down her shoulders. Or the way she moved through the Coyne house like a wraith, floating through the white washed walls, like a ghost, or even a house elf.

Fiona was delving into the art of flower arranging, talking—lecturing—to a little blonde girl who had wandered off some time ago, leaving the fashionista to blubber on into the echoing silence with no one to listen to her. Peter was, well, Declan assumed he was at school. Or working, or whatever he did for the day. The Coyne heir kind of felt sorry for the guy. His father was a shut out who did what he liked, kicking his little girl to the curb in a way that Declan supposed had been in similar fashion to Peter's early life.

And here he was, twenty… two? Three? A year older then Declan.

It must suck. Being saddled with a kid—not even having the sex to appreciate it—being stuck, tethered down, ugh.

Needless to say, Declan had spent most of his adult life doing whatever he liked. VP of his father's company, which mostly entailed forwarding work to his secretaries, attending meetings every once in a while, keeping tabs on the market and the stocks. Discussing with dim-witted shareholders. Fiona was his rock, his sister and what he always deemed to be the other half of himself, was enamored with Canada. With Degrassi. So he went. His latest conquest, however, was stationed in Paris. So he went there.

No obligations.

"Declan?"

His sister's voice called through the halls.

He turned from the balcony, burrowed in the depths of his rooms.

He walked out, into the open living room next to his bedrooms, and then out into the main part of the house. He was mildly surprised to see Angel staring up at him with wide, fearless eyes, holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Fiona said flowers cure sadness." She began conversationally, holding a fistful of flowers she most likely tore from Fiona's flower arranging ceremonies.

Declan took them with as much grace as he could. "Fiona is idealistic."

"Fiona is exciting!"

Probably a new vocabulary word. Angel usually made it a point to try to act smart around him, using big words that hardly ever fit the topic at hand. He thought it amusing anyway.

"That she is." He agreed.

"My name's Dinosaur."

"Yeah?"

He wondered when Fiona would come pattering around the corner.

"I'm a boy."

"I see."

"Cause boy's are tough."

"That they are."

"Since I'm a boy, if I kick you it'll hurt."

"I think it'd hurt regardless." Declan supposed aloud, before turning his attention to the young restless ball of energy. "However, kicking if very unbecoming for a lady."

"I'm not a lady!" Angel insisted. "I'm a boy! My name's Dinosaur!"

"Dinosaur?"

Declan looked up, Peter pushing the door open, one hand fighting to get his faulty key out of their lock. Angel seemed to lose all interest in explaining to him how she had changed genders suddenly in an attempt to cause physical pain to him, and had instead leapt into her brother's arms, said brother looking like he was searching for an opportune moment to drop her and sink to the floor in exhaustion.

"Dinosaur isn't even a name, sprog." Peter tapped her nose. His face looked drawn and sleepy, however.

"Sure it is!" She tapped him back, but it looked a little more like she was attempting to face palm him. "It's a boy name! Because I'm a boy!"

The blonde seemed to give in to exhaustion, easing Angel down until her toes could wiggle onto the floor, looking even more ready to collapse. "What do they teach you in school?" He sighed, in resignation.

"Nothing very interesting. " She answered. "But that's okay. Staring tomorrow, Bella is gonna teach me how to be a ninja."

"That's… great?" Maybe Angel hung out with the wrong crowd at school. Maybe not. But right now, Peter was a little to tired to be concerned.

"Why don't you take a nap or something?" Declan's voice was soft, and, maybe empathetic? Peter reeled in surprise anyway. "It's not like we don't have a shortage of beds… or couches, or, carpets, I guess, if you're into the whole floor thing."


	4. consolation prizes

_An update?_

* * *

Peter's back was sore, but other then that, the couch was relatively comfy. Large. Made of nice, soft linen. Big pillows. Most likely better then his own bed which was a death contraption of broken springs, a tempurpedic bed cover stolen slash borrowed for an indefinite amount of time from Sav (if the dude didn't want it back, Peter would take it readily off his hands), throw pillows, which actually made for a comfy, perfect mix. The Coyne couch in x sitting room next to y bedroom in b side of the penthouse mansion mix was going to become a quick fixer upper for him and a clear cut destination for his next moment of collapse.

There was only one issue about the perfection of furnishings.

It was most definitely located adjacent to Declan's bedroom.

Peter spent a few moments debating whether the greatest sleeping device known to mankind—had he really just crashed on a couch in the Coyne house? He couldn't even fall asleep at Riley's house, or Blue's, or Holly J's, or anyone's. He'd thought himself simply unable to sleep in places other then his own—was worth the awkward moment that was waiting to happen with the couch of wonder's improper placing.

Declan gave him a sensation like ice cold fingers trailing down his spine. Like looking into the eyes of some sort of demigod, who saw right through him to places he wasn't aware of. Like he knew everything about him and then some.

It bothered Peter a little bit.

Made him uncomfortable.

Peter pulled himself out of its comforting depths, shrugged out his messy riot of blonde hair, and made a guess as to which door lead to the area of the house he was hoping for.

He guessed correct, and ended up in the spacious main corridor of the Coyne house, one he was quite familiar with.

Fiona was minding a startlingly large vase of flowers, plucking saffron colored daisies and purple lilacs and moving them around with the rest of the flowers. Angel was pouting on one of the wiry stools, dress so long it was hanging around her ankles, face flushed.

"Ready to go sprog?" He smiled.

She frowned, but hopped obediently off the stool.

Fiona looked up worryingly. "Are you sure you'll be okay driving? You really looked a little dead when you walked in here."

He nodded. "I just…" He swallowed. "Haven't got much sleep, I guess."

She seemed to take it as an answer, a concerned gaze lingering on them as they made their way out of the house.

Once in the elevator, Angel seemed to take it upon herself to become his principal annoyance. She was prattling on about how she wasn't a girl anymore—where in God's name she picked this up, Peter didn't know. He was aware, however, that it would be giving him hell for some time—and she didn't appreciate Fiona attempting to dress her like one. Peter wanted to point out to his young relation that she hadn't seemed too disturbed about the dresses some days ago. He did not voice this, however. He was much too tired to care.

X o x

To say Peter was burned out was an understatement. It was like every moment was in, out, in, out. His focus on the real world blurred inconsistently, colors meshing together like a kaleidoscope of his tired brain, the pattern of Holly J's shirt, his battered shoes, the white of the Toronto U desks. Riley's hair, the alluring curve of Declan's smile.

Peter was just a couple crashes away from disaster.

"Fiona will be here any moment." His sister bounced in one of the stools at the Dot, nodding. "Try not to get into too much trouble, okay?"

She saluted. "Boy's don't get in trouble!" She insisted as he walked off. She was obviously still in her I-am-man kick.

He didn't say anything else though, just sort of chuckling under his breath—who wouldn't think it was amusing?—and tying his apron. The Dot, for a Friday, was bone dry. Four tables in the back. One high top, excluding his bouncy sister, decked out in Fiona's "Coyne Couture", kid edition. What Peter supposed was the pinnacle of what children's fashion could achieve. He was about to get drinks on a table that had walked in a couple minutes ago (which was, predictably, Holly J and Blue, inevitably in their "almost together but still really talking" phase) when he noticed some jock sitting at the bar.

He looked kind of familiar, but hey, if he went to Degrassi, Peter had probably seen him a million times before.

"What's up man?" He asked distractedly. The guy gave a minimal response. "Can I get you anything to drink? I'd recommend ice tea, but the machines kind of going gnarly, and you really can't trust that shit."

The guy gave a half chuckle. "Nah, I'll pass on that. Coffee?"

"Sure, be back in a sec."

He meandered over to where Holly J and the former favorite artist of Degrassi High were getting it on once more, effectively slicing clean through what was shaping up to be another get-back-together talk, as the two silenced almost immediately as he sauntered over.

"Lemme guess," He began tiredly. "Double shot with a ham sandwich for Blue, and a water and... egg white omelet for Holly J?"

"You always know what I want!" Holly J clapped her hands in amazement, to which Blue mumbled, _"Because you order it every time." _Which she obviously didn't catch. "What would Spin do without you?" She asked, clearly amazed.

He cracked a smile. "Dunno. Speaking of Spinner, you seen him around lately?"

Holly J made a vague answer, and he moved back over to the bar to start punching orders into the high-tech machine, which had been installed as a recent feature after the fire, grabbing a coffee for the lonely looking kid at the bar while he was at it.

"So I didn't catch your name," He said conversationally, placing down the steaming cup which lit the boy's face.

"It's Drew." He sighed, and looked as if he wasn't pleased to be himself at the moment. "Drew Torres."

Oh… that kid. No wonder he looked vaguely familiar. Riley had some sort of feud with him back in the day, over who was gonna be quarterback. Starvos insisted that if Drew hadn't played dirty, he'd have won fair and square.

"Why so glum, kid?"

The guy shrugged, but looked slightly surprised he noticed. Hey, being a barista was like an underpaid psychologist part giver of life to the caffeine addicts of the world, and he had really gotten good at reading people. (Some people, though, remain indifferent to his technique, unflappable like steel blue eyes, regal button downs and dark, tousled hair)

Drew proceeds to tell him about his not-so-secret love affair with Alli Bhandari—to which Peter almost choked on his own spit at the thought of Sav's ickle little sister getting it on with some hormonal brute like this one—and all the other crazy women of his life. Apparently, last year him and his brother even had a quasi love triangle with Fiona. This almost made Peter laugh, as he was sort of sure that either Fiona was asexual or just straight up lesbian, because the girl never seemed to have any interest in boys at all.

In the midst of it all, Peter almost didn't realize that Declan had sat himself on one of the stools not too far from jock-boy Drew. When he did, he attempted to school the shock off his features. It probably didn't work.

"Fiona's occupied." He said by greeting. "Figured I'd do the honors."

Peter opened his mouth, and then closed it. "I—" He started. "Where is she?"

"Boston, for a new store opening." The man answered, as if it was completely normal for his sister to hop the border whenever she pleased, jetsetting in luxury around the Northeast. "She'll be back by tomorrow." He added.

"Oh." And then. "Sorry, she didn't tell me. You really don't have to watch her, you know…"

"You have classes this afternoon, don't you?" Declan tilted his head.

Damn. Found out again. He'd taken the morning shift because Fiona had promised to watch Angel for the afternoon, in which he'd spend most of it furiously cheating off of the asian next to him in calculus.

"Yeah…"

"It's fine." Decaln waved him off. "I've got more then enough time on my hands."

Peter blinked, in a mixture of surprise and skepticism, but answered nonetheless. "Oh… well thanks."

"Declan!"

Angel cut them off, as she skidded to a halt in front of him. Torres, at the mention of Fiona, had been listening with rapture, only to drop his jaw at the little girl who skidded into Declan's arms.

The most surprising part, though, was the lack of jealousy Peter had at the two's obvious affection for each other. It didn't even bother him remotely that Declan would be so close to his sister. In fact, he almost felt a bit… touched?

Christ.

Had someone slipped him meth while he wasn't looking again?

He hoisted her up onto his lap, where she perched curiously and looked at the countertop she'd never been able to see before from her normal height. When Declan looked back at him, his eyes were sincere. "I'll look after her."

Peter was speechless.

"I…"

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the brunette's.

"I know."

X o x

Of all the dumb things that could have possibly come out of his mouth, he really scarped the bottom of the barrel on that one.

Just thinking of it made Peter flush in mortifying embarrassment. It would have been marginally better had he not caught the surprised—and god forbid, _pleased—_look on Declan's features as he'd admitted that unintentionally. He hadn't even gotten a good laugh at Drew's mortification, after he'd confessed his history with a girl he had thought Peter had no knowledge of, only to find out that said billionaire was babysitting his sister, and said billionaire's brother had been listening beside him the whole time.

To make matters worse, the calculus test seemed to leach him of all his energy—what little he had of it, anyway—and not even cheating off of the random smart asian for the A could possibly raise his astoundingly low GPA.

By the time he stumbled into the Coyne penthouse, he didn't even bother with a greeting.

He just collapsed.

X o x

Angel thought Declan was a better driver then Peter.

Of course, Angel wasn't aware that Peter drove a vintage, if not a little beaten up stick-shift Mercedes and Declan was driving the latest BMW M6, which handled better then ninety-five percent of the other cars on the market. No, all she saw was the clean smooth leather and the sleek profile of the inside. That, and all the flashing lights.

"Your car talks!" She gushed as she pressed another button on the GPS, delighted when a robotic woman began to converse with her about directions.

Declan looked amused. "A lot of them do."

"Peter's doesn't." Angel revealed, though Declan had been under that assumption already. "And his is filled with junk."

"Your brother's a busy guy." Declan explained. "He's very busy taking care of you and going to school and working, so he probably doesn't have the time to fix it."

Angel looked at him curiously. "But don't you do all that stuff?"

Declan chuckled. "No… I don't do nearly as much as he does."

Angel hummed. "Peter does do lots." She agreed, after some deliberation. "He should stop doing all that stuff."

"It's very admirable of him." Declan disagreed, shifting lanes smoothly as Angel squealed in the back as they sped past cars. "He's got a good work ethic."

"A good what?" Angel giggled.

Though Declan didn't bother explaining. "And don't you go to school?"

"Not really." The blonde girl surmised excellently. "We sleep and paint things. We don't have lots of books like Peter does. Michael says its cause were not old enough."

"Is Michael one of your friends?"

"Yup! Michael thinks Peter is my dad and Auntie Fiona is my mom." Angel titled her head. "But they kind of are!"

Declan smiled, amused. "And what am I, then?"

Angel made pause at this, thinking deeply. Declan switched lanes again, slowing as they got off on the exit. They'd spent most of the afternoon at the zoo, in which Angel received a backstage pass to see the zoologists feed jellyfish. She was so enthused that she completely forgot that she was a boy, much to Declan's relief.

"My other daddy." Angel decided upon. "I can have two."

Now if that wasn't an exciting prospect…

"Two?" Declan asked slyly. "You wouldn't mind having two?"

"Of course not!" Angel insisted. "Two is better then one! That means I'll have more people to play with!"

Play indeed…

Though that was an alley of thoughts for another time, Declan surmised, as he backed into a space one handed. He reached over to undo Angel's seatbelt. She was practically squirming with anticipation.

"When does Peter get back?" She whined, and struggled, simultaneously.

Declan made a face as he attempted to get around the car seat. "Hopefully soon."

"How long was he gonna be?"

"I dunno, kiddo." Ah, finally. She sprung out of her seat and out of the car, jumping as she did so. "He's got a very important test today, so he could take a while."

Angel pouted. "I wanted to tell him about my day."

"I'm sure he'll be just as happy to hear about it in a couple hours as he would be now."

Though there wasn't any arguing with a four-year old.

She was still sulking throughout the entire elevator ride, and Declan was brainstorming various ways to get her out of it. Maybe juice. Sugar always worked to make kids happy, right? Perhaps too happy, though. He'd need a better alternative. Fruit? Or maybe she'd be content to watch another rerun of Tom and Jerry. Why a child would be enamored with a Technicolor cartoon when 3D bugs were talking to her on Disney was beyond him.

The two made their way into the house, Declan too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the blaring difference from the usual foyer.

"Those are Peter's shoes!" Angel interrupted his thoughts, trotting over to the familiar gray—if worn out—Sperry's in the center of the foyer. She eyed them as if they were clues to a mystery. "Does that mean he's here?"

"I suppose so." Declan answered dazedly, a bit surprised.

"It's a mystery!" The girl shouted as she tore down the hallway. "We've got to find him!"

Declan had a pretty good idea where he was, though. "Angel." He called to the young blonde girl. "I think he's over here."

True to his gut feeling, Peter was sprawled haphazardly on one of his couches, in one of his enormous sitting rooms of which he had no use for. He was thinking of converting this one into some sort of tech room, though obviously, it had better uses now. His Oxford button down was wrinkled and rolled to his elbows, and his face was schooled into a look of exhaustion.

Declan hadn't lied when he'd said he'd admired Peter. There was something very… _real_ about him. Real and hardworking. There were very few people in the world like that now, and he respected the blonde for being one of them. Life certainly hadn't dealt him a very good hand, and there was no reason he had to make it worse by doing the charitable act of taking care of his young sister. How could he and Fiona not help out, when they knew how wonderful he was? How could he not be drawn to him?

"He can't sleep here!" Angel protested hotly, attempting to drag Peter by a limp arm. "He needs a bed!"

Declan smirked. "You're absolutely right, Angel. He needs a very nice bed."

"So he can sleep for a long time!" She clapped her hands, as Declan hefted Peter off the couch. "And he needs a princess to kiss him to wake up! Just like in the fairy tales!"

"I though it was the other way around?"

"But Peter isn't a princess!"

"But he's sleeping." Declan pointed out as he opened the door.

Angel thought about this. "Well, then Peter would need a prince to wake him up, then. But who would be the prince?"

The Coyne heir's smirk widened.

Angel soon came to the obvious conclusion he had. "_You _can be the prince!"

"I suppose I can." He answered, easing Peter onto his bed. The boy made for a delicious sight, hair skewed and features relaxed in sleep. "It'd be very magnanimous of me, though."

"Would you?" She trotted after him. "Would you _please_?"

"Well," He exaggerated. "If you ask so nicely."

She squealed.

"We can't wake him now, though." He began seriously, shrugging off his blazer, and tossing it onto one of the long stretch chairs near the bed. "He needs sleep."

"A long sleep!" Angel agreed.

"So we'll have to find something quiet to do for the meantime, right?"

The blonde agreed, curls bouncing in her vigor, though she made no sound. In fact, her lips were pursed and she looked like she'd be quiet the entire rest of the afternoon.

Declan couldn't even believe his luck.

Peter was in his bed, Angel was being quiet—and he'd just killed two birds with one stone.

X o x

Peter awoke with a startled intake of breath, eyes flying open to snap the world into bleary, sleepy color. He pushed away from the pressure that had awakened him so quickly—soft and feather light on his lips.

He expected to make out the dim sitting room, and the large bay windows that would most likely hold a still dyed red sky, not the impossibly bright and smoldering blue eyes that met him.

Peter sat up quickly, propping himself on his elbows. The man on top of him adjusted to give him space, though not very much.

I'm dreaming, he thought—hoped.

He was wrong.

Declan was really on top of him, wearing one of his perfectly ruffled white button downs, the kind that had Peter tracing each seam and fold of cloth like they were each works of art. And his hair, god, if Peter hadn't seen anything so perfectly imperfect in his life. Though neither of them covered the depth of his eyes, so close that Peter could see the flecks of light gray that surrounded his pupil.

And then he heard the clapping.

And the girlish shriek of delight.

Angel had seated herself opposite of the bed—bed! When had he gotten on a bed?—and had a face of utter delight, and Peter whipped his had between the two of them, wondering if the world was conspiracising against him and when it had started to do so.

Then Declan smiled. "Looks like it worked."

"And the Prince saves the Princess!" Angel agreed with a giant grin. "And now they live happily ever after!"

"Pri—what?" Peter sputtered. "Princess?"

"That'd be you." Declan added with a lustful smirk, and Peter attempted to shy away. It didn't work.

"You were Sleeping Beauty cause you're so pretty—

"I resent that—" Protested the blonde.

"And you were sleeping! So we needed to wake you up with a kiss! But I'm not a boy, so I cant' be a Prince." She explained unnecessarily, and Peter wanted to point out that just yesterday she'd been under the impression she was of the male sex. But obviously that was irrelevant now.

"You couldn't just spray water on me?" He asked, perplexed.

"That's not how it works!" Angel cried in retort, hopping off her chair. "The Prince has to wake the Princess up! He _has _to."

And really.

Was he supposed to return a logical argument to such a flawed fallacy?

Instead he sighed, rubbing his hair with a yawn.

"Ugh. What time is it?"

"Nine." Angel said matter of fact.

Peter turned to one of the long windows, eying the light saffron that diffused the room softly. Nine, and the sun was still out? He took the moment to give a quick sweep of the unfamiliar room. A bedroom, obviously. The bed large and modern frame made from dark wood, the white sheets like silk down beneath him. The window had a small sitting area centered around it, and a marble hallway which led to what looked to be a pretty sick bathroom.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

Oh no…

"In the morning." Declan added, looking amused at his frightened surprise. He turned to the brunette billionaire, who had a knowing smirk on his face.

This was Declan's room.

He was in Declan's bed.

And had been for the past fifteen hours.

"You… let me stay here?" He asked softly.

"Of course." And how Peter hated that sincerity. Declan was supposed to be the enigmatic elder brother of one of his dear friends, who obvious held a fair share of dark intentions. They were supposed to be passing acquaintances, if that. Not… Not whatever Declan wanted them to be, which was certainly the _opposite _of what Peter wanted.

Right?

"You're always welcome to stay here." Declan added, looking almost a bit confused. "I'm sure Fiona's told you this countless times."

She probably had, but there was something a bit mortifying, if not disturbing, about staying in this place overnight. It was beautiful in the morning, impossibly so, with the sunlight pouring in from every open window, the courtyard outside always full of pleasant chirping birds. But in the night? No. That was just a bit borderline uncomfortable.

"I had the _biggest _room!" Angel gushed, leaping onto the bed. "It had a big TV and its own bathroom and a _tea set_!" She put so much emphasis on that final word that Peter was sure that Declan spent the majority of his afternoon conversing with fake animals over cold tea.

Guilt rose in his stomach. As a college sophmore, it wasn't like he could give Angel any of those things. At this point, he could hardly give them to himself. Everything he owned that had any relevance had come from his time in high school. His house, most of his clothes, his car… back when his parents still paid for everything.

He didn't even know where his mother was off flying to, and he wanted nothing to do with his father, so there wasn't much he could do about it now aside from support himself.

"That sounds a bit big for a little sprog like you." He said instead, ruffling her bed mussed hair.

"I'm not little!" She protested, though she looked like even she didn't believe her own words.

"You're very little." Declan refuted, before Peter could even open his mouth to say the exact same words. "Which is why you should always eat your breakfast. Have you eaten it like I told you to?"

Angel had the good sense to look a little guilty, but mostly just cherubic. "Well…"

Declan gave her a flat look, one brow raised.

"I'll just bring it here!" She decided, hopping off the bed. "I'll be right back!"

Peter watched his sister go with foreboding horror, completely unprepared to be in the room with only Declan. Not just any room—but the man's bedroom. How did he get into these situations? The blonde sighed.

"You really didn't have to do this." Peter said into the silence, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

"I don't mind." Declan replied with startling honesty, something which surprised even himself.

"But… I don't understand." Peter blinked slowly, taking his eyes off the far wall to focus on Declan, who still sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?"

The brunette turned to look at him, and Peter almost turned away. He could never seem to hold that burning sea blue gaze for very long. He smirked.

"Do you really have to ask?" He leaned closer, lidded eyes never leaving Peter's. The blonde backpedaled until he could feel the pillows behind him, but it wasn't enough—not enough _distance._

Peter flushed. "Wha—Declan—

"It's not like she's a devil child, or even remotely hard to take care of. She doesn't even complain very much." The brunette confessed, somehow impossibly getting closer. Peter was well aware he was in a compromising position, the exact position he'd been skittish about from the moment he noticed Declan's smoldering eyes.

So why wasn't he moving away?

"But I don't mind." The man added, breath warming Peter's cheeks. "Because its for you."

Peter's eyes fluttered open, meeting Declan's. There was nothing but frank veracity in them, though. And that scared him a bit more then their nonexistent distance apart.

Even though he was awake for this particular meeting of lips, soft and chaste and, if he let himself think it, absolutely perfect, it still took him a few moments of prolonging heaven until he pushed him away.

"W—Wait minute." He gasped out, pleasantly disturbed with the hand on his hip, the other near his head, caging him in. "We can't do this."

It was like the words didn't even register.

"Why not?" The brunette moved again, claiming his lips for another perfect second until Peter moved away.

"Why not?" He echoed incredulously, out of breath and flushed. "Are you serious? Because—

Angel came back into the room then, with her enormous bowl of cereal, looking as if seeing Declan pinning her older brother to the bed was normal and perfectly acceptable. "Are you guys playing a game?"

Peter sat upright quickly, pushing the brunette off him. Luckily, the guy didn't protest this time, letting himself be moved with unreadable eyes. Peter didn't meet them. "Uh—no, we were just… discussing something."

"Yeah?" She hopped onto the bed, wedgig between them like some sort of miraculous, adorable cock block.

Peter could have cried in relief.

Declan looked less then pleased.

"What about?" She tilted her heard curiously.

"Just stuff, kiddo." Declan gave her a strained smile, not even sparing Peter a glance, which didn't help the restless flutter of the blonde's emotions. "Why don't we play a game or something?"

"Tea party?" Her eyes lit up.

"It's not tea time!" Hah, sly, sly, Declan, worming his way out of that one. Angel looked dismayed, before she just simply nodded.

"We can just play prince and princess!" She yelped, cereal near flying everywhere, but Declan caught it just in time and laid it on the beside table.

The blonde paled.

Oh no.

"I'll be the knight!" She volunteered.

Declan looked like the cat who just caught the mouse, devouring Peter whole with his smoldering dark eyes.

"Sounds like a great idea." He smirked.


	5. deceitful above all things

_this was a long wait, but this flirting phase is about to be blown out of the water (:_

* * *

An hour of cutting cardboard and raiding the Coyne linen closet later, and Angel was finally sufficiently ready to play her game. Peter thought he, out of the three of them, looked the least ridiculous. As the prince, he got his own mangled looking cardboard crown, a red bed sheet tied off his shoulder like a cape, and a cardboard sword, and his best righteous voice. Angel had mostly the same, though she'd just taken a pillowcase and tied it around her neck for her cape.

Declan though, seemed to get the worst of it. As the now official "princess", Angel had attempted to make a white dress out of a king sized bed sheet, but really only ended up swathing it around the boy like a makeshift toga. Not that Declan minded, obviously, as he seemed much too pleased at the fact that Peter was going to have to kiss _him_.

Peter himself was dreading the moment.

"We have to save the princess first." Angel was explaining. "Because she's still asleep and taken prisoner by the dragon!"

She gave a glance to Declan, who quickly pretended to be asleep again on his chair, crown lopsided and falling around his dark halo of hair.

"Okay…" Peter nodded hesitantly. "And then…?"

"Then we have to slay the dragon!" Where did she learn words like that? What did they teach her at school?

That sounded acceptable. "Alright, so let's go find—

"But first we have to save the princess!"

"The dr—what?" Peter blinked, giving a brief side glance to Declan, who looked _way _to happy to be playing this game. "Don't we do that _after_?"

"No!" Said the young blonde adamantly. "We found her first! We have to save her before the dragon _eats_ her!" She emphasized, as if it was a fate worse then death.

Prince Peter grumbled in response. "Alright. So how do I do that?"

"You've got to kiss her and wake her up!"

He could've seen that coming from a mile away.

Peter swallowed thickly, unready to meet Declan's impassive gaze, the elder Coyne sprawled on the chair like royalty, simply watching him.

"Kiss! Kiss!"

He bent down hesitantly…

And gave the other boy a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Angel jumped in outrage. "That's not a kiss!" She pointed wildly. Declan had to agree. "How can you save her from the giant dragon if you can't even give a good kiss?"

Peter looked more then embarrassed at this point, and Declan supposed he should put the boy out of his misery.

"I demand another one!" She went on to say.

"And since when do knights tell the prince and princess what to do?" Declan smiled wryly. Cowed, the young knight said nothing. "And anyway, don't you think we've embarrassed your brother enough for one day?"

At this, Peter made a slight noise of protest, though mostly he looked like he agreed.

"Embarrassed?" Angel echoed, as if the word was foreign and she'd never come to think Peter could even be slightly embarrassed by their game. She turned to him with big eyes. "Are you upset Peter?"

Regardless of if he was or not, _she _was about to be.

"Did _I _make you upset?"

Oh no, that bottom lip was wobbling. Peter would kiss Declan a thousand times over if she would just _not cry. _Consoling Angel was like attempting to stop a freight train with his bare hands. Nothing short of impossible. Generally when she started crying he attempted to soothe her for a good half an hour, before he just let her exhaust herself out and fall asleep.

"Of course not!" He backtracked quickly, ready to _kill _Declan for even slightly planting the thought in her head. "I'm not upset at all!" As if to prove his point, he swooped down to the boy on the chair—no hesitation this time—and gave him a more solid, lingering kiss to the mouth. And though Declan looked pleased and satisfied, he made no comment on that.

"See? Nothing's wrong."

Angel eyed them skeptically, but the shimmer to her eyes didn't seem to be evolving into anything more lethal, and the lip had stopped wobbling.

"Okay!" She jumped down from her stool, enormous sheets and cardboard sword dangling from her shoulders. "We've saved the princess! Now we have to go slay the dragon!"

She grabbed his hand and raced down the hallway, most likely looking for some large piece of furniture to identify as the dragon. Personally, Peter mused that beating the dragon would be significantly easier then kissing the princess.

The dragon turned out to be a large kitchen stool with a cereal box on top of the seat, with eyes drawn poorly with a blue sharpie. Angel hacked away furiously at the wooden legs with her flimsy cardboard sword, Peter trailing a bit behind her, and Declan beside him.

Peter caught sight of the boy's expression. "Don't. Say it." He warned.

Declan's lips quirked. "You look like the mayor of candyland."

"Have you seen yourself, yet?" Peter raised a brow. Admittedly, the get up didn't look anything near bad on the dark haired boy. In fact, if anything, the lopsided crown and white sheets almost made him look fetching. Not that Peter would ever say that aloud.

"Peter!" Angel whined, not looking dismayed at all that her repeated strikes to the wooden legs didn't seem to be doing anything. "You have to help me!"

"Right, sorry." He moved forward, before pausing. "Why doesn't Declan have to fight?"

Angel paused in her furious offense, gaping.

"You can't let a princess fight!" Angel cried out in alarm. "You need to protect her!"

"I doubt _he _needs any protecting." Peter pointed out, though it was obviously in vain. With a great sigh, he grabbed his fake sword and swung the cereal box clean off of the stool. "Look." He said flatly. "I beheaded it."

The reaction was instantaneous. "Yay! We saved the princess!" She jumped up. "Now you guys have to get married!"

"Look!" Peter began quickly. "It's four o' clock already! I think we should be heading home, sprog."

Declan looked like he was about to say otherwise, but one well placed glare from Peter kept him silent. And, the millionare supposed, he'd tortured the poor blonde with his manipulations enough for one day. After all, it wouldn't do to get _too _greedy.

And he always had tomorrow…

"I'll see you out, then." The elder Coyne said magnanimously, though there was a dark look to his eyes that Peter wasn't sure he appreciated.

After ripping off most of the Coyne linen closet and placing most of the props in the trashcan, Angel was moping more then usual after her particularly fun day at the Coyne house—and much to Peter's exasperation seemed to actually enjoy Declan's company—and the boy in question hadn't yet to do anything over PG to him aside from place a steadying hand to his hip when Peter was attempting to put the sheets back where he found them on the top shelf.

By the time they had made it to the front door, Angel hadn't even remotely run out of steam, bolting right out the door and repeated pressing the elevator button. Peter couldn't even call out to her to suggest that perhaps pressing it so many times wouldn't make it go any faster, because the moment she realized it wouldn't be up at _this precise moment _she leapt to the stairwell and ran down them, shouting; "I'll race you to the car!"

That was eighteen floors below.

And there was no way in hell he was going to do that.

Peter stood at the door, about to chase after her when Declan pulled him back.

There was a shot of fear that went straight through him at the hand on his arm, that quickly turned into an awful, awful cocktail of pure fear and nervous anticipation. Not that Peter would ever admit that to himself, no, no, no. Instead of what Peter had thought Declan would do, the other boy instead pulled him to the elevator, which then opened like clockwork.

"We'll probably catch up to her in time this way." He said with a smile.

Peter only nodded, figuring he was right, but not wanting to spend an excruciating sixty seconds in a confined space with the boy he'd been attempting to avoid all day. Not to mention without Angel wedging herself between them at every given moment.

He swallowed thickly, before getting in after him.

Just as he had expected, the moment the chrome doors slide shut he was pressed against them, Declan's arms trapping him to the cold metal.

"You're nervous." The brunette observed, one hand rubbing up and down his arm.

Peter flushed. "Why wouldn't I be?" He glowered. After all, it wasn't every day you were practically molested by some other guy—albeit, an extraordinarily attractive other guy.

"You don't have to be." Declan's eyes twinkled. "It doesn't hurt…"

Peter's face went bright red; that better have been about kissing, because really, his brain couldn't catch up to anything _else _the brunette may have been alluding to. And luckily, Declan's lips met his and Peter pretended like he hadn't eagerly met him halfway, and this time there was no Angel to keep it chaste and Declan had the blonde limp and moaning in his hands in less time then Peter would ever be comfortable admitting.

There was a moment when the brunette pulled away for a long breath, and Peter caught his rapid heart beat with a greedy intake of air. He hadn't intended to meet Declan's eyes but something had compelled him to, something foolish, and there was a clarity to the clear blue he wasn't quite ready to decipher.

"I've been meaning to do that to you all morning." The brunette near purred. Peter shivered in his arms.

"You didn't even get permission." Peter glowered. You didn't just randomly molest people… surely there was some sort of sign, right?

Declan seemed to ponder this. Peter swallowed, butterflies eating away at his insides. The elevator passed the tenth floor.

"Alright." He nodded magnanimously. "Can I kiss you, Peter?"

That perfect, smoldering voice shot straight through him, accidentally meeting the brilliant blue of Declan's eyes with his own. "I—…" His breath caught on what should have been the outright _no, _the word still lingering on his tongue as Declan pinned him with his arms against the wall of the elevator, leaning lower until he felt the soft pressure on his lips.

The blonde jolted at the tongue that swept against his bottom lip, asking for entrance, opening his mouth for Declan's tongue and pulling him closer. By the time the elevator reached the parking garage, Declan had wedged himself between Peter's legs, palming his hips in a sinfully carnal movement that grinded the two of them against each other. The doors slid open as Declan relentlessly ravaged the blonde's mouth, and Peter, much to his own disbelief, _let him, _tugging at that shaggy mop of sex hair that topped the other boy's head.

Their silence was interrupted by the noisy clatter of Angel sprinting down the stairs, and Peter's eyes shot open and he backed against the wall, disengaging his bruised mouth from Declan and his wicked, wicked tongue. He untangled his fingers from Declan's hair, trailing them down the brunette's biceps, wanting to disconnect their eye contact, but finding himself unable to do so.

Angel's clattering footsteps were getting louder, and Peter attempted to struggle out of his grip, but Declan grabbed his hips again and pushed him back against the wall, his hot mouth latching to the long, sinewy tendons of the blonde's neck.

Peter let out a strangled cry, as ever nerve in his body seemed to be lit on fire by that tongue sweeping down his shoulder. "Ah—_god _Declan—!"

The brunette didn't stop. In fact, he only pulled the blonde closer, grabbing one of his legs and pulling it to wrap around his waist.

Peter would deny it until the end of his days, but, as Angel finally made it to the basement and he sprung out of Declan's arms like a wire spring, he caught sight of his bruised, swollen lips and tousled hair in the elevator mirrors and thought, _"Damn. It totally looks like we just had sex."_

Luckily, Angel wasn't even aware of what sex was. She skidded to a halt in front of the opened elevator, breathless. Peter was panting as well, but for obviously different reasons. He managed to get himself all the way to the opposite side of the elevator, hoping they didn't look too strange to her.

"Why'd you take the elevator?" She tilted her head at him.

Peter swallowed greedily for air, shaking out his hair with a hand. "Uh—just, thought it would be faster."

"Well I still won!" Angel cut in quickly, tugging at his hand. "Let's get ice cream, okay? Because I won."

"It wasn't a competition." Peter rolled his eyes, still shaking a bit from being ravished so fully.

"Bye Declan!" The blonde girl threw over her shoulder with a hasty wave, obviously taking Peter's answer as an affirmative. "See you tomorrow!"

Declan only smirked, giving a wave of his own. Peter chanced a quick glance back, only to find Declan's unwavering gaze focused on him. He blushed, furiously, and walked as quickly as possible—without looking stupid—to his car, strapped his sister in, and bolted the hell out of there.

.

.

.


End file.
